The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 5 Part(10)

“I shall consult with his Lordship and Mrs. Cleanknockers as to the schedule.” I was feeling a bit bereft, it must have shown, because Mr. Steedstiff attempted to reassure me. “You seem intelligent, if a bit stubborn. With a studious approach, I am confident your deficiencies will be remedied in short order.” My eyes darted to the canes. “Does that studious approach include caning, sir?” He crossed his arms. “I find red lines to be an indecent to retention of pertinent facts.” I nodded and boldly met his stern gaze. “And other methods of training, are they inducements as well?”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 5 Part(9)

Discretely adjusting his falls, Mr. Steedstiff dismissed the girls to their rooms. He shuffled my test papers then tapped them into a neat stack. “You seem to have a good grasp of the English language, Ruby, but you seem to be lacking in more basic areas. Were you never schooled?” I clasped my hands tightly. “My mother needed me at home, sir, once I turned ten. I looked after neighbor’s children so they, and my mother, could work. I like to read,” I added hopefully. “You have much to learn, Ruby, in a short time. It will take utmost dedication.”

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 5 Part(8)

Mr. Steedstiff spent most of the hour reviewing my completed primers. He frowned and sighed frequently. My spirits sank lower with each raised eyebrow or shake of the head. At quarter after nine, he whispered in Ann’s ear. She fairly bounced off her chair with a grin and disappeared into an anteroom. He followed shortly and firmly closed the door. Lily and Sara exchanged smirks but kept working through their lessons. As the clocks chimed half past, Ann reemerged, preening as a cat in the creamery. Her tongue swiped the corner of her mouth and she daintily licked her fingertips.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 5 Part(7)

Lily, Sara and Ann correctly answered several questions each, but all failed at least one. Each girl in turn went to the coatrack and selected a cane. Presenting it across both palms to Mr. Steedstiff, once he agreed with her choice and took the implement, she bent over and grasped her ankles. The shortness of our uniforms meant the hem lifted to expose the lower half of the nude buttocks. Sara received two strokes, Ann one, and poor Lilly, four hard and fast red welts on her plump cheeks. After the punishments was quiet study time for the last hour.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Flashback Friday: “What is the perfect bottom type?”

This week’s Flashback Friday, originally posted, October 10th, 2009.

Theresa handed me a flyer. “I think you need this, Clara.”
She was my best friend, and I’d known her since grade school, but we hadn’t seen each other since the wedding two years ago. Now spending the week at our house, I’d thought she was having a great time. I read the flyer in shock.

Domestic Violence Hotline

“What’s this?”
She patted my back gently. “I know you’re in denial, Clara. I heard what that brute of your husband did to you last night. I could hear you screaming and begging, but he didn’t stop! I was about to call the police but I wanted to talk to you first.”
I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. Theresa looked hurt and confused when I crumpled up the flyer and tossed it away.
“Thanks for the concern, but Kurt doesn’t abuse me. He was only spanking me last night.”
“SPANKING! You’re husband SPANKS you? That… that is barbaric!”

I spent the next several hours explaining our marriage and the rules I followed with the consequences for misbehavior. Theresa grew more agitated with every detail until I was afraid she would pack up and leave. Luckily, Kurt came home unexpectedly early and walked in on her strident denunciation of him. Not even pausing for breath, she laid into my husband calling him ‘wife-beater’ and ‘misogynist asshole’ among the nicest oaths.

“Are you finished, Theresa?”
“Well, what my wife and I do in the privacy of our home and marriage in none of your concern. I appreciate your loyalty to my wife and I realize you’ve known her for a long time. But that knowledge should be with the understanding that Clara is a strong woman and would never tolerate abuse from me.”
“It’s barbaric, Kurt! How can you even think of spanking your wife?”

Kurt sat down on the couch, patted his lap and I immediately lay across his knees in the very comforting position. Before Theresa could even leave the room, Kurt flipped up my skirt, tugged down my panties and gave me a very firm and very fast hand spanking on my still sore bottom. When he finished—for now—he glanced up at the slack-jawed Theresa and said without a hint of irony, “I spank my wife because she has the perfect bottom type. It’s bare, and over my knees.”

The Bumhampton Chronicles: Chapter 5 (Part 6)

There were precious few carrots in the schoolroom, but many sticks. I cannot vouch for Miss Frothinglips’ technique in exhorting the male to academic prowess, but I can state unequivocally, that Mr. Steedstiff believed in the power of the rod: both rattan and priapic. While I struggled through the beginner’s tests, he conducted an oral examination of the previous lessons. The three little maids were perched on pert derrières behind desks. I was not yet subject to discipline, it was counterproductive Mrs. Cleanknockers had explained, but once a curriculum was established, I would be required to earn a passing grade.

You can go to this page which has links to all the complete previous chapters.

Outlaw in leather

Haylee Anna Cummings had never outgrown her tomboy antics, but, by middle school, her fists had settled the issue of her name for good. After graduation, legally emancipated by age, the foster care system washed its hands. She straddled her motorcycle and lit out on a Wanderjahr. Her short hair ruffled, goggles over her eyes and a pistol in her saddlebag, she traveled the country, not so much searching, as simply living day-to-day. To paraphrase the sentiment—wine, women and song—she liked rough whiskey, rougher men and heavy metal.

By the time she turned twenty-one, the rear view mirror had gotten old, but she wasn’t ready to settle down into domestic bliss. Then, he crossed her path.

She first met Lance DuBois at the dive out on Highway 50 halfway to nowhere. Too seedy to be called a honky-tonk, Kribbs was so rundown, even the alkies stayed closer to town. The local bikers kept going rather than risk hepatitis—or worse—by setting boots inside the place. The scuttlebutt around Spar Creek was that the bar had been built on top of an ancient burial ground. Supposedly the spirits of dead shamans possessed those who dared drink too much firewater.

“Helloooo! Anybody here?”

The buzzing neon signs, of brands both famous and obscure, gave off less radiation than Haylee Anna’s scorched hormones when Lance ambled out from the back room.

“What’s your poison?”
“A hard cock. What’s yours?”
“A paddle.”
“Good thing I’m wearing jeans.”
“Bare bottom only, lady.”
“That too.”
“I’m in love.”
“No you’re not.”
Lance reached under the counter and slapped an oak plank on the bar top.
“Most bartenders keep a bat or a shotgun, not a paddle.”
“I’m not most bartenders.”
“I get that impression.” She glanced around at the empty room, the jukebox and television silent. “Are you even open?”
He didn’t answer right away; instead, he sauntered to the front door, locked it and then flicked the sign over to ‘closed’. Never looking away from her lazy smile, he came back, slid his butt on the stool next to her and drawled softly, “Not now.”
“So I see. Should I be worried?”
Lance smirked and set his elbow on the polished surface. “So? What’ll it be?”
She hefted the wood and tapped it on her palm. “You got experience with this thing?”
“Honey, I wrote the book on paddling.”
“Well, in that case, stud, I’ve a hankering for a shot or two of the best you got.”

Haylee Anna spun the stool around and hopped down onto the tacky floor. Her stiletto boots clacked as she sashayed over to the scarred pool table. The zipper made a loud rasp as her leather jacket came off to be tossed on the green felt. Her braless nipples pressed the thin tank top into puckered peaks. The heavy belt buckle clanked as she shimmied her boot cut jeans down over her hips. The red silk panty shone like a siren in the dim light. Slowly, she turned her back to Lance, and placing her hands on the soft surface, slid her palms forward until her waist touched the rail.

“Nice thong.”
“Nicer ass.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It’s not bare though.”
“Oh? You want a peek of my pink too?”
“That would be nice.”
“Well, a man’s gotta do what he promised. I guess you’ll just have to take ’em down nice and easy.”

Lance tucked the paddle under one arm, and hooked his thumbs into the strings at her hipbones. As he tugged the soft fabric, she arched her bottom and widened her stance. He left them tautly stretched between her muscular thighs.

“Think you can take fifty, sweet cheeks?”
“Think you can fuck for fifty minutes, honey buns?”


“Oh yeah, baby, give it to me nice and hard.”


“Fuck! I’ve missed this.”


“Damn, that burns like a thirty-year-old scotch.”


“Keep ’em coming barkeep, this girl needs a fire down below.”


“Halfway there, darling, you sure you can handle what I can dish out?”


“Ain’t never been a man that can handle this chick.”


“You can rev her up and ride her hard into the sunset, but she’ll out-fuck and out-drink you and then break your heart with a smile.”


“Good thing I don’t have one then.”


“Every man’s a mama’s boy inside. They can run their mouths longer than they can fuck a real woman.”


“Sounds like a challenge.”


“You up for it?”


“Last one.”


“Got a condom? Or are you like most men, a whiny bitch afraid to cover her meat?”

Lance threw the paddle onto the pool table and unbuttoned his jeans. He ripped open the package and rolled the sheath over his cock. He grabbed her hips, pulling the flaming hot buttocks up to his waist probing for her opening.

“Hope you don’t need an instruction manual, cause if you don’t fuck my pussy better than you spanked my ass, I’m going to be really pissed.”
“I’m gonna shoot my eight-ball in your pocket, bitch, after I run your fucking table.”
“This, I gotta see. Give it your best shot, motherfucker, either way, I’m outta here in fifty-minutes.”

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